Thursday, March 10, 2016

Stan is currently working on his forthcoming book Brewing Local, and he's been kind enough to inquire about Albany Ale for the project. We've been emailing back and forth about Albany's historic hometown brew and our conversation headed toward to yeast—specifically the conundrum of early American ale yeast. That is to say, the "where did it come from?" rabbit hole... er, uh...I mean discussion. The assumption is that American yeast is born of Great Britain, stowed away in the casks and bottles of colonial and early 19th century Brits bound for America.

All roads on a discussion of such things will eventually lead to Sierra Nevada's house yeast—the Chico strain. The proto-craft beer strain. The yeast which launched a thousand home brewers, brewpubs, microbreweries and ten times as many IPAs. A strain which is believed to be derived from P. Ballantine & Sons' proprietary house yeast. Ballantine XXX, is as many of you know, one the the great, long lasting, nationally distributed American ales, and its maker, P. Ballantine & Sons in Newark, New Jersey was one largest breweries in the United States. An ale-focused brewery*, even in the post-repeal era, when lager dominated the beery landscape.

We know for certain that Ballantine was experimenting with yeast microbiology as early as the 1870s. That isn't all that surprising, it stands to reason that anyone making beer would want to understand (as best they could at the time) how those mysterious little "plants" (as guided-age brewers believed them to be) actually did their booze making business.

Granted, the 1870s are early on the timeline of zymology, just a few decades after Louis Pasteur's work with yeast. But, going back further, even before Pasteur, the question is begged, where did "American" yeast originate? One might think Peter Ballantine, a Scot, may have followed the presumed pattern, bringing with him some variety of Scottish saccharomyces cerevisiae upon his immigration to the U.S in the 1820s. But Ballantine might actually be an exception to that rule.

The journey of Peter Ballantine to become one of the most import figures, and breweries, in American brewing history began in Ayrshire, Scotland, where he was born in 1791. In 1820 Ballantine arrived in the U.S., first at Black Rock Connecticut, but eventually making his way to the upper Hudson valley. He was first employed in the area by Robert Dunlop, and learned malting at Dunlop's West Troy brewery**. Ballantine himself testifies to the New York State Senate, that prior to April 28, 1835, he was employed in Schenectady by Isaac Schermerhorn for two years; for two years by Robert Boyd; and a year by Andrew Kirk, both in Albany. He also testified that at the time of his testimony he had been self-employed for two years. (In 1833 he had purchased Robert Dunlop's brewery on North Market Street, in Albany.) All said and done, he told the panel he had been "in the business of brewing ale, porter or strong beer" for a total of seven years—from 1828 to 1835†. In 1838 Ballantine moved his operation to Lansing Street. In 1840, Ballantine again moved, this time out of Albany, to Newark New Jersey where partnered with Erastus Patterson and rented the former Cummings brewery. By 1845 that partnership had dissolved, and in 1857 Ballantine's sons Peter, John, and Robert entered the family business and changed the firm's name to P. Ballantine & Sons—the name which the brewery would be known by for the next 150 years.

What makes Ballantine interesting is not just in the scope of his role, and his company's role, in American brewing. It's that Peter Ballantine wasn't a Scottish brewer who came to America to ply his trade; but rather he's a Scot who immigrates, and learns to brew in America. Peter Ballantine did not bring yeast with him, and yet the brewery which bore his name, supposedly, spawned the definitive American ale yeast. The yeast which helped to give birth to the American craft beer movement.

The obvious question becomes: "Where did Ballantine get his yeast?" There are a number of speculative possibilities. Remember the rabbit hole I mentioned earlier, here it comes:

1) Ballantine propagates his own proprietary strain in Newark.

2) Ballantine acquires a strain, which had originally come from Scotland, from another Albany Ale brewer, three of which—Kirk, Boyd, and Dunlop—are his former employers. From this strain he propagates his own proprietary strain at one of his breweries in Albany. He takes this master stock with him to Newark.

Number one is, of course, a totally plausible possibility. But let's focus on number two for minute, since the current assumption is that American yeast is borne of yeast originally from Great Britain. Boyd, Kirk, and Dunlop could have done exactly what is assumed of them. They could have brought Scottish yeast strains with them to the U.S., and yes, at some point any one of them could have given a cup-full to Ballantine and wished him good luck in his brewing endeavors. But there's another possibility. It's the possibility that the American yeast strain was already here—before Kirk, or Dunlop, or even before Boyd opened his brewery way back in 1796.

3) Ballantine propagates his own proprietary strain from local stock at one of his breweries in Albany. He takes this master stock with him to Newark.

Remember Isaac Schermerhorn—Ballantine's boss in Schenectady in 1828? There was a fellow by the name of Schermerhorn who was brewing in this area before Isaac—190 years before Isaac, in fact. Jacob Jansen Schermerhorn was the patriarch of the Schermerhorn clan, a fur trader, and a brewer‡. Granted, six generations is pretty wide gap to span between a 17th century brewer and a 19th century brewing magnate, but my point is that the upper Hudson valley, even as late as the 1830s was still very Dutch, culturally. Dutch was still being spoken, Dutch customs were still being practiced, and one of the more popular customs to survive was making and drinking beer. Peter Gansevoort was requesting barley at his brewery six years before Boyd opened his brewery—and Gansevoort's brewery, at that point, had been making beer, in Albany, for at least 130 years.

Kirk, Boyd, and Dunlop come to Albany—unlike Ballantine—to ply their trade as brewers, because by the 1790s, the area was already a brewing center. A brewing center built by Dutch colonials, and perpetuated by the Dutch, even under British-rule. The Scots came to Albany because it was the path of least resistance. They came because Albany had an long-standing and established brewing infrastructure. A brewing industry. A 175 year old brewing industry by 1825, in fact. The trade routes, malt houses, cooperages, breweries, bung factories, wheat, barley, hop fields and yes, the yeast were already here. It's completely reasonable that Kirk, Boyd, and Dunlop didn't bring any yeast with them at all.

Annnnnnd of course there's a fourth possibility.

4) Ballantine's yeast—the original "American" ale yeast—was, and is, truly American. Part Old Wold and part New World. Part East Coast, and part West Coast. A little bit of all of it—17th century Dutch, post-Revolution Scottish, early 19th century Albany late 19th and 20th century New Jersey, and finally a dash of California thrown in for good measure.

We now call it Chico, but I think we can all agree: Peter Ballantine was The Man.

*Yeah, yeah I know Ballantine made lager, too.**I suspect, Ballantine not only learned the malting trade at this point, but was also an apprentice brewer.
† By the early 1830s Ballantine was also partnered with Fidler & Taylor and Robert Dunlop in a malting operation.‡Jacob Schermerhorn was banished from Beverwijck for a short while, and spent time in a New Amsterdam prison for selling guns to the Mahicans—a business venture that the DWIC felt should be best left to them.

So where to start? At the beginning, right? The very beginning. Where and when was the first brew house in New York built?

It's said, Dutch private-trader Adriaen Block and his fellow Captain Hendrick Christiaensen ordered their men to construct a brew house on the southern tip of Manhattan in 1612. That may be true, but the trouble is, there are as many versions of Block and Christiaensen voyages to the new world, as there are chili recipes in Texas. Quite often one version gets mixed with another, and events of the duo's first foray in 1612 are mingled with their subsequent trips. The facts are very much hidden under a plate of mis-informational spaghetti*. It's almost as if "1612" has been co-opted to encompass "the explorational endeavors of Adriaen Block and Hendrick Christiaensen between 1612 and 1614." A phenomenon not unlike the usage of "The War of 1812", which implies the start of the war in 1812, but reflects the entire two and a half years of the conflict.

Block and Christiaensen did indeed travel to what would become Manhattan in 1612—but not to settle it. At least not at that point. The objective of the 1612 mission, as to seems to me, was to determine the viability of the area—which had been previously explored by Hudson, only a few years earlier—as to its ability to continually fill the warehouses of Amsterdam with beaver pelts. The duo's 1612 trip was the very definition of an exploratory mission—a testing of the waters (pun intended) of their business partnership with each other, the merchants of Amsterdam, and the New World.

If Block and Christiaensen were on Manhattan not to establish a settlement, but rather to act as speculators in the fur trade there, intending to only stay in “Terra Nova” for a short time. Logically, they would have stocked their holds with enough beer, spirits, water and food for a trip from Europe and back again—so then why build a brew-house?

I have a theory—and it's very much a theory—since primary sources are few and far between. Block and Christiaensen may have built their brew house, but perhaps not in 1612. Perhaps it happened, instead, on their second trip to Manhattan in 1613. Sailing for Amsterdam merchants—the Van Tweenhusyen Syndicate—the duo returned to the New World on a mission of not just trading, but securing the beaver pelt trade. The 1612 trip had produced in spades, so, the idea of establishing a trading post at that point seems logical, and because of an incident in late 1613 or early 1614, and as the old saying goes, misfortune breeds opportunity.

Block and Christiaensen planned to expand and divide-up trading territories in North America; extending them inland and up the Hudson, or Mauritius River as it was known to the Dutch, and east past the treacherous waters of the East River’s Hellegat, or Hell Gate, which led to the Long Island Sound; and to diminish the success of any other traders working for competitor merchants. Christiaensen left Amsterdam first, onboard his ship the Fortyun. Upon his late-autumn arrival in the New World, he engaged in a trading war with Volckert Mossel, a Captain working for a rival syndicate who had also recently arrived in the area. Block's ship the Tijger sailed into the harbor shortly thereafter.

Trading was excellent for the Captains, despite Mossel. However, as Block and Christiaensen prepared to depart for Amsterdam the Tijger caught fire and burned to the waterline. Block’s cargo and provisions were completely destroyed. Block and his crew were stranded. Christiaensen’s ship was no where near large enough to accommodate a second crew, and although Mossel offered to split the crew between his ship, the Nachtagael, and the Fortuyn, (in exchange for half Christiaensen’s pelts), Block refused Mossel's offer and chose to stay the winter on Manhattan with his crew. It's unclear if Christiansen stayed the winter with Block or sailed north before the river froze, but eventually he would head north, 150 miles, looking for trading opportunities with the Mahicans.

Soon, ice on the rivers prevented any serious navigation. In fact, the winter of 1614 was so harsh, that in March, eight disgruntled members of Block's crew seized Mossel’s ship, and abandoned Block for the West Indies. Building a brew house would have been a logical course of action for Block wintering on Manhattan. Beer is liquid bread. Beer is the perfect supplement to dwindling food supplies and scare game and vegetation. Beer provides plenty of calories, and also has a most enjoyable side effect which helps take ones mind off being stranded on an island in the middle of winter. Beer also helps to prevent scurvy. In cool climates, beer keeps wonderfully—and winter on the southernmost tip of Manhattan is definitely a cool climate. Alan has, noted that ships of the 17th century often kept stores of malt in their holds for such situations, and offered a letter written in the late 1660s about the Hudson Bay Company’s ketch, Nonsuch, a ship which overwintered in the arctic ice of the Northwest passage in the late 1660s. It reads:

“Last Satterday night came in the Nonsuch Ketch from the Northwest passage. Since I have endeavored to find the proceeds of their voyage, only understand they were environed with ice about 6 months first halting their ketch on shore, and building them a house. They carried provisions on shore and brewed Ale and beer and provided against the cold, which was their work:"

There’s no evidence that Block or Christiaensen traded beer made on Manhattan with the Lenape, but alcohol was often used by the Dutch to keep the neighbors happy. Metal trinkets and beads were nice, but alcohol played a two-fold role for Dutch traders. It provided a more desirable trade item, and it also clouded the judgments of the Indians, allowing the Dutch to take advantage of them. Robert Juet, an officer aboard the Halve Maen, on Henry Hudson’s 1609 journey up the Hudson, described in his journal an encounter with the Mahicans. The locals were given wine and aqua vitae—to excess—and two days later returned with gifts of wampum and venison.

Undeterred in his mission, Block used his extended stay in the new world wisely. Over the winter he had a yacht built, the Onrust, from salvaged pieces of the Tijger. As soon as the ice cleared, he used the small and maneuverable vessel to trade the coastlines of Long Island, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Cape Cod, the eponymously named Block Island, and explored the Connecticut River, to Hartford. 150 miles to the north Christiansen, for his part, built a small warehouse surrounded by a stockade to use as an inland fur trading post, named it Fort Nassau—in honor of the House of Orange-Nassau—and it maned with a garrison of ten or twelve men.

The Fortuyn, less its men who stayed at Fort Nassau**, sailed south from the outpost and rendezvoused with the Onrust off the coast of Massachusetts in the late spring of 1614. She made Amsterdam in July of that year. The warehouse Christiaensen built became the fist permenant Dutch settlement in the New World, and later, Albany.

*An example of the confusion: Victor Palsits, archivist, librarian and New York history scholar, was quoted in the Nineteenth Annual Report, 1914, of the American Scenic and Historic Preservation Society, saying: "Working wholly from the original sources of documents and contemporary printed works, I claim that Block's Tiger was burned up the Hudson in the vicinity of modern Albany and that the Restless [Onrust] was built there." However, two years later in 1916, the remains of what was most likely the Tijer, were unearthed by construction workers digging the Seventh Avenue line of New York's subway system.

**Christiaensen's fate is another mystery. At some point Christiaensen was murdered by "Orson", one of two sons of a Lenepe sachem, who traveled with the Dutchman. Some sources indicate that Orson, and his brother Valentine were "adopted" by Christiaensen on his first journey to the New World in 1612, and note that the brothers travelled with Block and Christiaensen back to the Netherlands that same year. Others imply that they met the brothers on their second trip. Christiaensen's death date is usually given as 1616. However, some sources state that Block was informed of Christiaensen's murder upon the Onrest's rendezvous with the Fortuyn in the summer 1614. Meaning he was killed at the fort. Other sources say Christiaensen, returned with Block and made numerous trips—as many as ten—back to the New World, after the dissolution of his partnership with Block. Meaning that he would have had to have returned to Europe at some point after establishing Fort Nassau in 1614.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

I've been doing a little digging on mentions of Albany Ale in non-American sources. Taking the path of least resistance, and seeing as how I can't read French, German, Flemish, or Czech, I hit British sources first, and got lucky. I came across two mentions of Albany Ale by British journalist George August Sala from his dispatches to London's Daily Telegraph in 1863 and 1864 as he documented the United States during the American Civil War.

Full color Sala.

The first mention I found was from a search on The British Newspaper Archive. It was from the Northern Whig's (Belfast) September 9, 1864 reprint of a Sala correspondence to the Daily Telegraph.

"It is a six hours' run from New York to Albany, per the H. R. R. (Hudson Rail Road) The cars are not very uncomfortable, and they are tolerably ventilated. Of the refreshment rooms en route it may be sufficient to state that pie, in every phase of atrocity, and quite equalling the doughy horrors of Schenectady, is to be found at all the intermediate stations. The choking diet is, however, mitigated by the Albany ale, kept on draught, and which is a very sound and refreshing beverage."

Yikes! Sorry Schenectady!

That little blurb led me to investigating more of Sala's writing on Google books—of which there are a number of examples. In 1865 Tinsley Brothers, of London, published a two-volume collection of Sala's dispatches from North America, titled My Diary in America in the Midst of War. It's there, in volume two, I found a second mention.

"If you eschew "supper," and seek perpendicular refreshment at the counter, you have first of all the bars where, in the non liquor-law States, you may obtain poisonous whisky, brandy even viler, mawkish lager beer, excellent Philadelphia and Albany ale, a wretched decoction known as sarsaparilla—not unlike the coco the men with the turrets behind them sell in the Champs Elysées—and in New England cider as good as any to be procured in Devonshire."

Reading these passages I began wondering how food and drink framed Sala's world.

Sala was born in London in 1828. His father, was an Italian theater man of some means, and his mother an actress and signing teacher. He spent time as a teen in school in Paris, and took up writing at a young age. His talent caught the attention of Charles Dickens who, mentoring the young journalist, gave him his first assignment as a correspondent in Russia in 1856. Through the 1850s and 1860s, Sala wrote a column for the Illustrated London News and became a regular contributor to the Daily Telegraph. According to his biography on Wikipedia, not only did Sala contribute articles to the Telegraph, but contributed to the paper’s reputation as well, “His literary style, highly coloured, bombastic, egotistic, and full of turgid periphrases, gradually became associated by the public with their conception of the Daily Telegraph; and though the butt of the more scholarly literary world, his articles were invariably full of interesting matter and helped to make the reputation of the paper.”

Sala continued to write throughout the end of the 19th century, publishing both fiction and non fiction, novels and essays, but working most often as he had always done, as a journalist. By his death in 1895, Sala had earned the reputation as one of the most productive and popular day-to-day observational journalists of the 19th century.

In his work Sala often wrote about extensively about food and drink. A clue to Sala's love of the good life comes from Peter Blake's partial-biography of Sala—George Augustus Sala and the Nineteenth-Century Periodical Press: The Personal Style of a Public Writer.Blake asserts that Sala had an on-again-off-again relationship with the Bohemian lifestyle of London and Paris in the mid-19th century. Sala wrote of Hamburg businessmen he met while in St. Petersburg who, "drink and smoke and play dominoes and billiards, and otherwise dissipate themselves all night. What lives!" Although Sala may have been drawn to the Bohemian lifestyle, he doesn't seem to have been a die-hard, Henri Murger -like character, but more of a fond observer of Bohemianism. Practicing it as a matter of convenience—traveling nearly penniless one week and then attending royal galas at the Russian court the next.

In Sala's writing food references are abound—in fact too many to mention. One that caught my eye, however, was an interesting connection between road food in traditionally beer and cider producing countries versus wine producing countries, in a footnote in Under the Sun: Essays Mainly Written in Hot Places (1872):

"It is curious that in countries where wine is plentiful there should be nothing procurable to eat, and that in non-wine-growing, but beer or cider-producing, countries the traveller should always be sure of a good dinner. Out of the beaten track in Italy, a tourist runs the risk of being half starved. In Spain, he it starred habitually and altogether; but he is sure of victuals in England, in America, and in Russia. Even in the East, fowls, eggs, kids, and rice are generally obtainable in the most out-of-the-way places; but many a time have I been dismissed hungry from a village hostelry in France with the cutting remark: 'Monsieur, nous n'avons plus rien.' There is an exception to the rule in Germany —In except Prussia—which bounteous land runs over with wine, beer, beef, veal, black and white bread, potatoes, salad, and sauerkraut."

Interesting that he notes Germany—which today would be considered one of the great beer producing countries or the world—is the exception to the wine rule.

Speaking of booze, Sala was not afraid to assert his preference for drink—sparkling brandy—which he refers to as 'nectar of the gods' more than once. Moreover, price seems to be a big factor in Sala's drinking. Blake writes in his book that in 1859 Sala had his nose busted open by a London landlord for complaining about the price of said publican's champagne—not so ironic after having just spent 3 weeks in a debtor's prison. He mentions a few times that wine—good wine, at least—was often beyond his limits, and usually mentions the price difference between different liquors and different kinds of beer, relative to their locality.

Sala also knew what was good and bad. Since he traveled extensively, his views were not confined to London—or England for that matter. He saw what other cultures ate and drank, and often commented on that—sometimes positively, sometimes negatively. He recalls, slightly sarcastically, in reference to foreign accents, how pretty "Paliali ale" sounded after seeing announcements for Cervesa Ingles, Paliali de Allsopp y de Bass on a trip to Andalusia in 1865 in his book Living London (1883). He notes the regular consumption of Bock beer by Europeans in Algiers—and how bad the brandy was—in A Trip to Barbary by a Roundabout Route (1866). He mentions Bock again in his travels through Paris in 1878 and 1879, in Paris Herself Again, noting its unintoxicating effects, and its unusually high price in that city. He mentions Belgian faro, briefly in his auto-biography, The Life and Times of George Augustus Sala (1895), with much dislike.

Sala was also good not just at framing drink for himself, but also relating his drinking experiences back to his readership. He returns to the topic of ale, briefly, in My Diary in America in the Midst of War, remarking on the pale ale being served at a the Clifton House—a high-end hotel built in the 1830s—on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls, in regards to British tourists visiting the falls:

"In addition to the usual colony of English tourists and officers—who are just like English officers and tourists all over the world, and who would admire the Falls a great deal more if the pale ale at the Clifton House were not sour instead of bitter, and if there were any soda-water to be obtained."

Sala's quip gives insight to whatever the Clifton House was serving, and some indication of its quality, at least by mid 19th century British tourist's standards. I'm taking Sala's meaning that sour meant aged, rather than off. The 1860s are right around the time where Brett-infected, aged beer begins to fall out of fashion (with the exception of stock ales and porter), en lieu of "mild" or fresh ale—which was decidedly un-sour. Perhaps the brewers of Clifton House's were a bit behind the curve. It's worth noting that Sala's first mention of Albany Ale in My Diary in America in the Midst of War, comes 30 pages after the Clifton House comment. We might infer, since Sala seemed to find Albany Ale agreeable, then perhaps Albany Ale fell more in-line with 19th century British ale served mild, rather than earlier aged and soured brews?

Although, Sala may have been being sarcastic, and Clifton House's Pale Ale was just shit.

In any case, Sala's writing spans the hey-day of Albany Ale, and he's written extensively enough about food and drink of the mid- to late-19th century, to gather a pretty good idea of what he drank and how he liked to imbibe. Considering Sala’s life experiences I take his assessment of Albany Ale to be "excellent", with some credence, and it was—at least in his opinion—better than what was being served in Niagara Falls—or most of the U.S. for that matter!

Thursday, June 18, 2015

I'm back—at least temporarily—and I've decided to post a few fan facts about Hawaii (Don't worry, it'll all make sense in a minute). Here goes:

Fun Fact #1: British explorer James Cook's arrival in 1778 was the first documented contact with European explorers. However it is believed that Spanish explorers arrived well before then.

Fun Fact #2: The Kamehameha dynasty began in 1795—after King Kamehameha unified the archipelago—and continued until 1872. Queen Lili'oukalani was kingdom's last monarch. In 1893, her rule was overthrown, and replaced by an American-backed provisional government.

Fun Fact #3 King Kamehameha III relocated the the permanent capital of the Hawaiian kingdom to Honolulu on the island of Honolulu—a town of approximately 8,000 to 10,000 people—in 1845.

Fun Fact #4: In July of 1898 the Republic of Hawaii was annexed to the United States, and in 1900 was granted self-governance. The one-time royal 'Iolani Palace in Honolulu, was used as the territorial capitol building

Fun Fact #5: On December 7th, 1941, the Empire of Japan attacked the U.S. Naval Station at Pearl Harbor, provoking the United States' entry into the Second World War.*

Fun Fact #6: Hawaii was the 50th state admitted to the union on August 20th, 1959.

Oh yeah...there's one more.

Fun Fact #7: From 1858 through 1860, Albany Ale (in pints and cases) was being advertised in newspapers and was available from multiple vendors in the Hawaiian capital city of Honolulu.

The Polynesian, Honolulu, Hawaii, January 21, 1860

So, lets put that in a little perspective. Three years prior to the start of the American Civil War, 40 years prior to annexation and 99 years prior to statehood, Albany Ale is being sold in Hawaii. Keep in mind that Hawaii is just under 2,500 miles from California—except this beer probably wasn't shipped from San Francisco or Sacramento. The Transcontinental Railroad would not be complete until 1869, and it would still be another seven years before the first train would bisect the country on a single trip from New York City to San Francisco. It's more likely these pints and cases of Albany Ale traveled by boat—from Albany down the Hudson to New York harbor, along the Atlantic coast of the United States, and past the Caribbean. Then they'd skirt along the South American continent, rounding Tierra del Fuego and Cape Horn, heading north along Chile before hanging a left at Peru, and steaming through the Central Pacific to Honolulu harbor—almost three months later.

I'll finish with one last bit of perspective—New York to Honolulu (via Cap Horn) is about 4,000 nautical miles further than the trip (via Cape of Good Hope, South Africa) from Burton-on-Trent, in the U.K to Mumbai, India.

I’m working with Green Wolf, while Alan is working with MacKinnon Brothers to create two Revolutionary War-era inspired beers. The beers will be blind judged against each other by WNYT NewsChannel 13’s morning anchor Phil Bayly, food and drinks writer Deanna Fox, and Middleburgh Library Director Teresa Pavoldi. The winner receives bragging rights and the official “1780 Beer Challenge Champion” barrel head. The loser must hoist their opponent’s flag in their respective brewery or taproom. There will also be a “People’s Choice” vote for the best beer.

The day’s activities include a Revolutionary War encampment, colonial brewing and cooking demonstrations, 18th century toys and games for kids, talks on the history of beer and hops in upstate New York and the Schoharie Valley, a Schoharie Valley hops display at the Library, beer samples from Green Wolf and MacKinnon Brothers, and Green Wolf brewery tours. Middleburgers BBQ and Under the Nose gift shop and bakery will be offering barbecue and baked goods for sale, and Al and I will be selling and signing copies of their book Upper Hudson Valley Beer. The day culminates in “The 1780 Beer Challenge”, cask tapping and tasting of the two Rev War brews!

You might ask why Middleburgh? Middleburgh is a tiny little hamlet, about a half hour’s drive south west from Albany. It’s the very definition of small town America, and nestled amongst green mountains and the rolling farmlands of the Schoharie valley. But 235 years ago, it was not such a quiet little spot.

In 1780, as the American Revolution raged, another war—a civil war—was being fought on New York's frontier. Neighbor battled neighbor in an escalating conflict between those loyal to the British Crown and those bent on independence. During the 1770s, many New York Loyalists, including Sir John Johnson and the Mohawk leader Joseph Brant, were forced off their land, finding refuge in southern Canada. Set on disrupting the borderlands, Johnson returned to New York in 1780 having raised his Loyalist King’s Royal Regiment of New York while in Canada. With Brant and his Mohawk warriors, Johnson aimed to lay waste to the fertile Mohawk and Schoharie valleys—the “breadbasket” of the Revolution. They embarked on a slash and burn campaign, destroying what had once been their own farms and grain fields, in order to starve the Continental Army.

What Johnson wasn’t expecting was the dogged determination of a rag-tag group of Albany militia and volunteers protecting local families and defending the middle fort—“Fort Defyance”—at Middleburgh, led by Colonel Peter Vrooman, and the sharpshooting hero of the Battle of Saratoga, Timothy Murphy. Low on ammunition, outnumbered three to one and under cannon-fire, the Continental commander, Major Melancthon Woolsey, ordered the surrender of the fort. Murphy, against orders fired over the heads of the approaching Loyalist truce party three times, refusing to relinquish the fort and rallying the defenders behind him. The patriot’s refusal to yield their position cost the Loyalists precious time on their advance north. Although Johnson’s successful campaign devastated the Schoharie farmlands, the delay at the middle fort would help the American forces marching from Albany to halt Johnson’s attacks in the Mohawk Valley.

Today, Justin Behan of Green Wolf Brewing Co. is producing some really great brews just about a mile from where Johnson’s raiders marched on the fort, and the MacKinnon Brothers, up in Ontario, are brewing on their family farm, settled by their Loyalist ancestors in 1784.

The story kinda’ writes itself. But what about the beer, you ask?

Although the Loyalists and Patriots of 1780 disagreed on their allegiances, beer was a commonality. Whether in Canada or Central New York, the beer these two groups made during the American Revolution was similar. Both were strong—7% to 10% ABV; both used Cluster hops and locally grown grain—most often wheat, or other grain, rather than barley; and both used similar brewing techniques—like using chopped straw as a filter, to prevent the grain from becoming a gluey mess during the mash (Now that bale of straw in the photo makes sense, huh?) It’s this kind of strong, locally sourced wheat ale that Green Wolf and MacKinnon Brothers will do battle with.

Admission for the 1780 Beer Challenge and Revolutionary War Festival is $15 (for adults 21 years of age and older) and includes beer sampling tickets and a Green Wolf sampler glass, or $35 for sampling tickets, a Green Wolf sampler glass, and a signed copy of Hudson Valley Beer. Admission for non-drinkers, or those 20 years of age or younger is $10. Children and teenagers under 15 are FREE! All ages are welcome but you must be 21 to drink.

So pick your side—Loyalist or Patriot—and head out to Middleburgh for a little beer and history!

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

I was informed last week that, apparently, some beer styles are dated. These styles being, Porter, Oatmeal Stout, Red Ale, Brown Ale, etc... Now, I’m assuming they're dated in regards to more currently popular trends such as triple IPAs and sours, and innovative techniques like barrel aging.

Hmm.

I think we need to define our parameters a bit. According to Merriam Webster, to trend is an intransitive verb meaning to “extend in a general direction or to follow a general course”; and innovative is an adjective meaning “introducing or using new ideas, devices or methods.” I think beer folk have a tendency to to think the those two terms are part in parcel concordant to one another. They are not, and trends are not necessarily a result of innovation.

Yes, beer trends, its always has. Beer evolves over time. Beer changes because the public’s taste changes. Styles wane and return. Its strength rises and falls and its ingredients change. But Porter is no more dated than say Gose. Sure, Gose is currently popular now, but trends ebb and flow, and the popularity of a style at any one particular time doesn’t accurately reflect that style’s arc. In fact the arc of Porter brewing in the United States far exceeds that of the arc of Gose brewing at this point, so implying that Gose—or any number of other styles which have recently begun to appear on the American scene—is some how superior to Porter because of its current popularity is a bit like saying Meghan Trainor is better than Led Zeppelin because “All About That Bass” was the breakout hit of 2014 and Zeppelin hasn’t released an album since 1982’s Coda. One beer stye is not better or more important or more relevant than another. It's the long game that matters.

Now then, onto innovation. As far as I can tell the most innovative things to happen to beer in recent history fall in this order (and I’m sure I’ll miss a few, but you’ll get my point): The invention of the modern mercury thermometer and the Fahrenheit scale (1724) and saccharometer (1770); Watt’s steam engine (1781), the advent of microbiology and pasteurization (1875); commercial refrigeration (1876), the perfection of bottling technology (1897); wide spread electricity and the assembly line (1914), and the perfection of canning (1934); and the development of the programmable logic controller (1968). Those are beery innovations. Those events “introduced and used new ideas, devices or methods”.

This might be a good time to debunk a few "innovative" misconceptions.

Sour beer: Sour beer is not innovative. Cantillon has been brewing intentionally sour beer since 1900, and 3 Fonteinen has been blending Gueze for 128ish years. I dig Jolly Pumpkin as much as the next guy, but again innovative isn’t the right word to describe them. "A great brewery" works just fine.

Barrel-aging: Barrel aging is not innovative. For as long as wood staves have been held together by metal loops, beer has been placed in that wood to age. What about barrel aging in a spirits barrel? Okay, that was a bit innovative for Goose Island’s Greg Hall to fill six Jim Beam casks with Stout at the Great American Beer Fest—back in 1992. Twenty-three years ago.

Yeah, that’s right the hottest trend in brewing today—spirit barrel aging of beer—has been happening for nearly a quarter century.

Low ABV beer: Low ABV beer (just like high ABV beers) are not innovative. Low ABV beers did not come about because of the drinking “session”. Aside from small and table beers—brewed most often for children and invalids—most low ABV beer was produced as a nutritional supplement for laborers working extended hours in fields or in factories. The modern “session” beer is not the result of innovation either. It’s a result of British beer gravities dropping after both WWI and WWII, in which beer making ingredients either ended up on the bottom of the Atlantic, or were rationed for the war effort. These low ABV, often cask beers caught on, and eventually became to be seen as "traditional". By the 1970s and 80s, they were being championed by CAMRA and the term “session” was born in the late 1980s and 1990s, says Martyn. By the way, “session" strength IPA isn’t innovative either. According to Ron, Barclay Perkins IPAs of the 1940s hovered at about 3.5% ABV.

Ingredients: Ingredients do not make for innovation. Non-traditional brewing ingredients like herbs, spices, spruce, honey, old beer, capsicum, and licorice root have been used in brewing for eons. Vanilla, coffee, and fruit are just continuations of a previous practice. Also, new hop varieties—like Nelson Savin—are not innovative. That would be like saying a Labradoodle is more innovative than a Rottweiler.

Newness. A new beer is not automatically innovative. A new to you beer is not innovative. A beer or brewer that you are being told is innovative most likely is not innovative.

So, to review. The jet-engine was an innovation. The Beatles were innovative. Barrel-aged sour beers are just trendy beer.